


let your heart be light

by rectifyinflux



Series: Two Pieces [17]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas Cards, Family, Gen, a bunch of holidays related stuff, christmas fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rectifyinflux/pseuds/rectifyinflux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas in the two pieces 'verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Holidays from...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t happen that way. And ironically, she was the one to suggest the card. Kind of. It was more an offhanded comment meant to pass off as a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this series of holiday-themed fics to the wonderful readers and amazing friends of mine.

Christmas cards whether you buy them in bulk with pictures of wintery landscapes or have specially made were fun to send out, even more to receive.

Skye’s seen them before lined up neatly on fireplaces, pinned to walls, held in place by fridge magnets. But her favourite were the personalized ones. A family gathered in horribly ugly sweaters with Christmas colours, smiling up at the recipient.

She remembers the Sawyers’. How Heather and Liam had dreaded having to spend an hour after school to take the family photo that would go on the card. Skye had watched from the stairs, half there and the other daydreaming of when her parents would find her.

Then she’d be just like them, complaining about how unnecessary it all was. But smiling either way when the camera flashes because she’d have a family.

It didn’t happen that way. And ironically, she was the one to suggest the card. Kind of. It was more an offhanded comment meant to pass off as a joke.

(They were practically a family of spies, with no attachments aside from each other. Phil had no family left. There was no one to send it to, at least not without possibly risking them.)

She really was joking. Something to do just because it seemed like fun. A parody of sorts.

They gathered on the living room couch with the camera (Skye’s disposable one with film) decked in their most festive-coloured clothes. A green plaid shirt for Grant, a red and white striped t-shirt for Skye with a Santa hat she’d insisted on buying and Phil in his crisp white shirt and black tie.

Their first card wasn’t much, just a photo of the three of them. Skye squished between Grant and Phil with her arms around their necks, all wearing huge grins. It was slightly tilted from being held out by Grant, affording a view of the window with snow gathering on its ledge and the haphazardly decorated Christmas tree in one corner.

On the back, the words “Happy Holidays from” in Phil’s hand with black ink and their signatures. Skye does hers in glittery violet ink with a sketch of a reindeer, red nose and all. Grant adds on a sleigh along with his name signed in his sensible scrawl.

Nick Fury and Melinda May were the very first recipients of the Coulson family holiday card. Somewhere along the road, it became tradition. The pictures were candid at best but that’s what she loved most about it.

She manages to pull Melinda into the shot (the four of them bundled up for warmth against the backdrop of an actual pine forest).

They drag Gram in soon after, despite her protests. (Skye and Grant flanked her on both sides).

And then, Buddy with antlers on his head came bounding onto their laps (knocking the wind out of Phil in the process).

Fury continues to receive one every year – and if he smiles upon seeing them, he’ll tell you you’ve lost your damn mind – up until Phil’s death.


	2. all's fair in love, war and that brownie spoon

There's a distinct scent of chocolate permeating the air in the house, the one that has him literally with his nose in the air, sniffing like a dog. Ward knows that smell and what it entails – brownies. More specifically, May's brownies. The one she makes only for the holidays.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't look forward to it all year round.

Ward finds himself quickening his pace to the kitchen. May was working at the island, he recalls the stories he's heard of May in spy-mode and seeing how domestic she was – it was difficult to reconcile the two.

"Hey," he greets, peering eagerly at the assortment of utensils. He's disappointed to see the spoon batter resting on Skye's mug.

"Damn it, Skye."

"You snooze, you lose." Skye grins, waving the spoon around. "What was that you said, something about worms? Oh, right, the early bird gets the worm. This early bird," she points to herself, "definitely got the worm – and analogy or not, it's still gross."

He seriously hates it when she used his words against him.

"It's not," Ward rolls his eyes at himself, " _fair_. You already got it last year!"

"All's fair in love and war."

"No, you don't get to use that. You took the blueberry muffin yesterday because you said I had it the day before."

May clears her throat, eyebrow raised. Skye stuffs the spoon into her mouth, going back to frosting the brownies. Ward 'accidentally' elbows her arm as he walks past to the fridge.

"Grant." He looks up to see May's slight smirk.

She holds out a spoon, the one she had used to mix the latest batch. Ward doesn't even hesitate (and resists the urge to brag). "Thanks."

"What batch is this?" He asks, eyeing the growing pile on the table and the tins on queue for the oven.

"Fourth." May sighs, " _Skye_."

"I'm sharing with Ward." She says, breaking it in half and smearing a bit of frosting on top.

"How many have you had?"

Skye shrugs. "I dunno. Three?"

"Try five and a half." May says.

Between him, Skye and Coulson, it was a miracle there were any left for anyone else. After that year where they finished everything in 2 days, May began baking portions for each of them in addition to the ones for general consumption.

"I'm taking one." He announces before reaching for the bowl of raspberry halves.

It was an unspoken rule that he was to decorate the brownies, partially because May appreciated the way each piece looked identical. And he hated frosting duty anyways. Ward placed a raspberry towards the top right corner along with two mint leaves to mimic holly.

"Wead," Ward interjected, swallowing before he tried again, "Read, Skye missed."

" _Miscalculated_ ," She presses, "and it hit Saunders. In the face."

"Damage?"

"Bloody nose."

"And it's crooked."

"It is not crooked!" Skye plucks a berry from the bowl, throwing it at him. Ward catches it in his mouth easily. "Really. The nurse said so. I was there."

"What did she say?" Ward says. "The exact words."

"Uh, ' _Don't worry, Skye. You didn't break her nose_.'"

"She didn't. Coulson got the email."

"See - wait, they sent an email about this? It was accidental."

"For progress." May clarifies.

"Does AC get progress emails about Ward?"

"Why? I'm a model student."

"Lie."

"Partial truth. Relatively speaking."

"But AC gets them for Ward too, right? May?"

"Yes, Skye."


	3. milk and cookies

“Looking for something?”

“Nope,” Ward replies, continuing to rummage through the cupboard. “Just browsing.”

There was bound to be something he could use. Fitz was always snacking, Simmons liked to have her tea with biscuits – where the hell was it? He pushes aside the bags of candy, nearly slamming the door in frustration.

(Sure, they had 4 different kinds of chocolate bars and 7 kinds of cereals but no biscuits whatsoever.)

He hears the slight screech and looks down to see a plate with a plastic bag of cookies on it.

“With the devil and his advocate on our tails, it’s not like there’s much time to bake or anything.” Skye says as she tears the package. “Hopefully he’ll be okay with store-bought.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” Ward smiles, exchanging the cookies for a glass. He places one in the centre, arranging the rest by overlapping in a concentric circle.

“You know Hunter’s going to eat these right?”

“It’ll be a waste if someone doesn’t.”

Ward watches her by the fridge, pouring milk into a glass. “Don’t.” He warns before she can even raise the carton to her lips.

“Buzzkill.”

“It’s gross.”

“Seriously?” Skye cocks her hip, arms crossed.

“I didn’t – other people – shut up.”

Skye laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m messing with you.”

“I don’t think you’re gross.” Ward mumbles.

“Babe, I _know_ you don’t.” Skye stands on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. She feels his arms tighten around her waist, holding her up. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“5 minutes.” He whispers, leaning their foreheads together.

“Take your time just don’t fall asleep on the couch. You’ll hurt your back again.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Ward.” Skye cringes, pushing against his chest, “Don’t call me that. It’s _weird._ ” Ward places her back on the ground but kept her caged in his embrace.

“I know.”

She narrows her eyes before her lips tilt upwards. Ward moves the plate out of her reach but her hand is quicker, snatching a cookie. Skye takes a bite, chewing exaggeratedly.

“I can’t believe you stole from Santa.”

“It’ll be a waste if someone doesn’t.” She mimicked, pecking his cheek. “Now go do your thing.”

Ward takes the plate and the glass, moving to the lounge. The TV displayed a fireplace complete with the sounds of a crackling fire – Fitz had connected it to the motion sensors so that whenever someone entered the room, it would turn on.

With the warm glow (Mack had changed the lightbulbs), there was a slight welcoming feel to the normally bleak atmosphere that shrouded the Playground. There were socks held up by colourful pins on the corkboard that held their duty roster. May had made sure all the socks were boiled and disinfected, twice, before consenting to it – and clarified that it was for _decoration_ only.

He clears off one corner of the table, stacking the papers and sorting them by reader. Ward sets the plate on top of a carefully folded napkin with the glass of milk next to it.

~

_“Aren’t you a bit too old to still believe in Santa?”_

_“Isn’t it way past your bedtime?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_Ward sighs when he sees Skye perched on the armrest. From the determined albeit slightly sleepy look on her face, he knows she won’t let it go (let it slide for now, sure, and then most definitely bring it up later)._

_“My sister used to do it.”_


	4. Merry Christmas, Douglas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ward spends Christmas alone.

Ward sighs, pouring himself a drink. It’s been seven months since he’d began the op and to be extremely honest, he’s homesick. He keeps it professional, of course, tucks it away in the box because he can’t afford to make a mistake – especially not a rookie one.

Maybe it was the fact that it Christmas Eve. The holidays tended to bring out the ugly truth; being alone literally meant drinking it away. Finding a companion would be easy. But it’s not the kind of company he’s looking for.

“Merry Christmas,” he tells himself.

It’s his first Christmas alone – without his family. And the thing is, he can’t remember the last time he’s spent Christmas miserable (he does but it’s a memory he prefers stored away).

He swirls the alcohol in his glass, glancing at his watch. It would be evening there right now. Coulson and May would be making dinner – or ordering, it depends really on how their day was. If Gram was there, she’d insist on cooking. And Skye would be – well, that also depended on whatever she felt like doing in that moment (last year, she decided to make Christmas pudding. It didn’t work out).

Ward starts up his laptop, checking his email for anything – there are holiday greetings from his colleagues at the embassy, he selects them all and sends them straight to the bin. Then a notification pops up.

_You have mail._

No message, no subject. Just a single url. Spam, he guesses, the kind that will have him sending emails he hadn’t sent. But he clicks on it anyways.

The link takes him to some forum and from his initial scan, singles complaining about their horrible holiday experiences. Ward rolls his eyes, _of course._

There’s a particularly lengthy and extremely detailed post about having to drag a step ladder around the house to decorate because everything was too high. He almost chokes on his drink at the last part.

 _We miss you, weirdo._ There are four sad faces and what he thinks looks like (or is supposed to be) a dog with a sad face. The last line has him smiling, written in all-CAPS, bold, font 20 and with each letter alternating between red and green:

MERRY CHRISTMAS, DOUGLAS.

Then he clears any and all indicators of what he’d done – deleting the email, basically everything Skye had told him to do.

\---

“Put away electronics, it’s time for dinner.”

“In a minute, Gram. Promise.”

“45 seconds.”

Skye grins, kissing her cheek. She refreshes the site (F5 and her, they were BFFS by now).

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MARY SUE (in obnoxious neon green and bright pink) appears for a brief moment and when she refreshes the page again, it’s gone.


	5. and you're welcome

“Ward! Can you come to the foyer?”

“For what?”

“I need help.”

“The wreath is fine.”

“Ward!”

“What?” He stomps into the hallway, but there’s no sign of her. “Skye!”

“Don’t move.”

Based on her voice, she’s upstairs. “No, no, don’t! Don’t look up.”

“What’s going on?”

If there was a bucket of glitter or confetti above his head again (he doesn’t want to talk about it), he was going to murder her. Glitter was one of those things that was impossible to get rid of – he still had traces of it on his stuff a week after.

“Wait, shift a bit to the left. Sorry, right, a bit more, forward. One step back.”

“Skye!”

“Done. Don’t move.”

Ward stands there, in the middle of the foyer, staring at the painting of the weird desert landscape on their wall. His watch says two minutes had passed. He crosses his arms and takes a deep breath to calm himself.

He opens his mouth to yell when the kitchen door opens. “Hey Nat.”

“Ward. Waiting for someone?”

“No, why would you think so?”

Nat smirks, Ward finds himself paralyzed to the spot. She stands on her tiptoes, resting a hand on his shoulder before pecking his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Ward.”

She flicks her eyes to the spot above his head.

“Romanoff!”

“Duty calls. Later. Keep your pants on,” She says with an eye roll.

Ward looks up in time to see a bunch of mistletoe attached to a fishing pole and Skye leaning over the railing. (Honestly, not the weirdest thing that has happened.)

“And you’re welcome!” Skye calls out.

“Get back from there before you fall!”

“You’ll catch me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Where’d you even get this?” He asks, examining the pole.

“Found it with AC’s stuff.”


End file.
